


Mistakes

by Saiphl



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: Angst, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-07
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2020-01-06 09:26:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18385637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saiphl/pseuds/Saiphl
Summary: Two lovers, two broken hearts, one passionate love pulsing, so many mistakes to regret.Sometimes, love is not enough.





	Mistakes

**Author's Note:**

> My first time working with a new couple and I hope you all enjoy it.
> 
> As always, all your comments and constructive criticism is so welcome.

**MISTAKES.**

Longing, sadness, a broken heart and a brand new bottle of Bocoy that a fan gave her on the Meet & Greet. That's what Alexis would’ve called a recipe for disaster. Alexis, his friend, mentor and drag mother. The first to embrace the idea of seeing him so happy. The first to welcome that tall blonde stranger that put the most beautiful and silly smile on his face. The first to hug him while he cried himself to sleep when he had the most stupid idea of his life -a break… a fucking break. Alexis was also the first to tell him to not make a decision he could regret, and as he always did, he didn’t listen.

Jose was done thinking, avoiding and keeping all the answers cryptic about him and Brock.  nor about Vanessa and Brooke, and the fling they allegedly had during the filming of the season. Every single person was thirsty to know if they were together. If it had been for the show or if it had gone further away from the werkroom walls. 

Vanessa would always laugh and show a chill facade that Jose struggled to keep across the time. Vanessa would smile and share a couple of flirtatious tweets with Brooke. Fun fact Jose hasn’t spoke to Brock in what felt like an eternity. Vanessa would always be gracefully tipsy at the parties. Jose would end the night wondering when he got the bottle and how in the world he had downed it so fast.

The dangerous part of getting caught in your own trap is that you can’t blame anyone but you if anything goes wrong. From the cast ruveal, to being host of viewing parties, he was regretting not only the so called break. He was missing Brock, and regretting to feel lonely and most of all, with a strong need to get himself numb. Before the aching of his heart would lead him to something more than him sprawled on a hotel room bed.

Another night of swollen eyes, tear tracks on his face and music that reminded him of Brock playing on his laptop. A single companion on hand to drown the memories and the pain. Life was wonderful… NOT. So, this was his life now, sitting crossed-legged on a balcony in his hotel room somewhere in California. He had never been a smoker, but since the airing of the season he picked up the habit. The smell of tobacco made him feel less lonely. It also tricked his mind by having the smell around that he associated the most with  _ him _ .

By the time he slurred a song by Kaleth Morales for the sixth time, half of the Bocoy bottle was gone.  Jose felt like he didn’t have any tears left to cry, and the so craved numbness wasn't coming at all, making him emotional. What he hated the most about all this mess, wasn’t even the fact of not having a boyfriend. Was the fact that no matter what, the stoic calm and discipline that Brock brought to his life wasn’t there anymore. His anxious self was taking over the place and making a party out of the self pity festival.

====

Brock had just arrived to the hotel after a last minute call to help Detox with a cancellation. He was tired, not just physically, but mentally and emotionally and most of all, unable to keep himself from overthinking. He never thought that Drag Race would be such a roller coaster, and from all the things he could expect from the experience, he never expected to find Jose crossing his path. 

To be fair, being conscious of the existence of that cute boy was a refreshing pit stop that reminded him of his own humanity.  Still, he never expected that something that started with a couple of stares and a light flirting could turn into the burning passion he felt for him. Brock was mad at the situation, meaning that he was hurt enough to not even try to talk Jose out of the cryptic interactions on social media, and he found himself hovering over his number to call him, only to scold himself for being stubborn.

Busying his hands unpacking, he left the telephone on the night table, forcing himself to concentrate on the task to get his drag ready to be used the following day. When he finally didn’t have anything else to keep himself occupied, he just grabbed his hotel key card, wallet, phone and smokes and went for a night walk. He’d been trying to quit smoking, but ever since the season started airing, he had been smoking more, and the feeling of uneasiness wasn’t helping his case at all.

He started walking, dragging a cigarette to light it, his mind running wildly now that his hands didn’t have so much to do. First drag, fast, deep, messy, rough enough to make him cough a little and making him laugh for the rookie mistake. Second drag, the smoke cloud around him still dissipating and his lungs complaining about the effort; he’s tired. Third drag, he taps the ashes away from the cig and realizes his phone is vibrating in his back pocket. Brock holds the cig between his lips while taking the phone out, the buzzing is there, consistent, almost urgent. On the screen a picture of them he took the time he went to Tampa to meet Alexis and the rest of the Mateo Empire, a shiver running down his spine.

Eyes tight shut, he slides his thumb on the screen and puts the phone to his ear, he takes the cigarette from his lips with his empty hand, exhaling the smoke. The sound of the street from a distance, a breathing and some Spanish song in the background.  _ “si no deseas que me marche, demuestra que al igual que yo quieres amarme y que también te estás muriendo por besarme” _ . He remembers the song, he knows he heard Vanessa and her sisters slurring the lyrics, totally wasted. He remembers the single trail of tears falling down Jose’s cheek while singing. He remembers how he felt that wild urge to wrap him in his arms and never, ever see that sad expression in his eyes again.

====

Jose can’t speak, the Hello on the other side of the line has him frozen, a tight knot blocking his throat making him sob. “Papi are you ok?”, he hears on the phone, and he feels like screaming, but his voice comes low and broken.

“I- I’m sorry Brock, I shouldn’t have called,” he says, regretting his words even before he finish the sentence. “I just… am so fucking drunk, and missing you and I needed to hear you...” he rambles, the trembling of his voice spreading through all his body.

Brock sighs, and then curses the cig burning his index finger, making him throw it away. “Where are you?” he asks, fighting the voice in his head now yelling at him that this is a bad idea. “Talk to me Jose… please...” his voice is losing strength as much as his knees that threaten to quit keeping him standing.

A broken sigh falls from his iips. “I shouldn’t have called… I’m sorry babe, I’m so sorry,” and he can’t help himself from crying. Brock exhales from his side of the line, the kind of exhale that compels anyone to keep talking.

“Where are you Jose?” Brock asks one more time, trying to keep himself together. He knows for sure that he won’t be alright until he makes sure the man he loves is safe and sound. In the background the song changes,  _ “arráncame la vida con el último beso de amor… ay! arráncala y toma, toma mi corazón.” _ Another part of his heart breaks, as if all the pain of reliving their beginning through the cameras hasn’t done its part at this point. “Please papi tell me where you are… I miss you too, I love you,” his voice desperate when he hears the song and how Jose’s breathing stops for a second.

The song comes to an end, and Jose finally speaks, sharing where he is and a non stop rant about how stupid he feels by doing this. Brock realizes that they’re not so far from each other and without thinking jumps in a cab, with the name of the hotel falling from his lips in a hurried whisper. Jose keeps talking to him, apologizing and telling him that he doesn’t have to come to him. Brock asks for his room number before cutting the call.. 

Riding in the elevator is painfully slow; Brock curses the damned thing (and himself) for not taking the stairs. When the evil device finally dings on the eleventh floor, he almost runs to find the room.  He doesn’t even need to look for the number; the music leads him to Jose, who was sitting in the hallway, the almost empty Bocoy bottle cradled between his legs and his forehead resting on his knees, the soft sound of a guitar coming from inside the open door of the room.

_ “Cómo te extraño y cómo tengo miedo de perder los pasos, de extraviar en algún lado las promesas y los sueños ¿cuál será el mejor camino? todos dicen, que ese sí te va a a llevar...” _ Jose sings, tears still falling down his cheeks, and Brock’s heart falls to the ground. His only purpose from the moment he found out he was in love with that man, was to make him smile. Kneeling by his side, with no words left to say, Brock wraps him in his arms, wishing to melt him into his chest and never let him go again.

====

Jose doesn’t know how long they sit there, the only thing he knows for sure is that he hasn’t felt that safe in a long time. He’s lightheaded, not even sure if his neck would be able to hold his head up but having Brock with him is worth the effort to do it. When he turns his head, for a brief second they lock gazes.  Brock’s eyes are full of tears, the longing reflecting his heartbreak. Jose sighs, shyly sliding an arm around the other man’s waist, taking a deep breath. 

Brock sighs deeply. He had wondered how that moment would be, what he was going to say and the things he expected to hear from Jose. Nothing of that happened, and there’s just a feeling of comfort spreading from where his hands touch his former lover and creeping up through the rest of his limbs. Jose sobs again, burying his face in Brock’s chest, muttering unintelligible things. 

“Come on papi, let’s go inside” he whispers. Brock starts getting up, lifting Jose with him. It had always been like that between them, both of them fitting together even in the most ridiculously small places. Feeling Jose’s breathing on his neck makes the blonde smile for a second, memories of that familiar tickling on his skin being one of the things that still keeps him awake during the long nights. 

Jose stumbles a little, managing not to fall down due to Brock’s grip on him, the door clicking shut after them. _ “Nuestra coordenada no es lo único que va girando. Tout ce qui nait, meurt tot ou tard. Si caminamos al reves, peut-etre nous rencontrerons.”  _ The tender notes of the ballad assault Brock’s ears while he finally snaps out of the haze of feeling him again. He remembers that song, he sang it with him, the verses in French easily falling from his lips under the Florida night sky. So many memories, all of them beautiful, yet painful. Tears finally breaking down his walls while sliding down his cheek.

Brock lays Jose on his back, taking the almost empty bottle from his hand. Jose curses to the numbness that’s finally taking over he wants to see him, wants to hear him talk, but most of all, he needs to touch him. He needs to know that Brock is actually there, and it isn’t a sick prank of his own head. Struggling with the heaviness of his lids, he looks at the man of his dreams watching him. A caress soft as the wings of a butterfly brushes away the tears that fall from his eyes; and for the first time in months, he genuinely smiles.

Brock leans to kiss Jose’s forehead, the tip of his nose… the corner of his lips. The strong taste of rum making him reminisce, and he closes his eyes for a second, feeling completely broken. He’s about to leave him to sleep when Jose takes his hand, a desperate iron grip squeezing his fingers. 

“Don’t… please Brock, stay with me.” His plead crystal clear even though it isn’t more than a soft whisper. Brock has never made a decision so fast. Even though he’s a proud creature and even though he’s still hurt, he misses the pleading man staring at him. Nodding lightly, he kisses Jose one more time, then gets back to his feet.

_ “Por el sueño sucio en que me enredas, andamos  la lluvia y yo buscándote con las mismas intenciones.”  _ Those words are the last notes hanging in the silence of the room after turning off the laptop. Brock takes off his hoodie, letting it fall languidly over a chair. Taking a cigarette, he goes to the balcony; he needs a minute to cope with everything that’s happening. He’s on the second drag of his smoke when a pair of hands wrap around him from behind, intertwining the fingers over his belly. Soon, one of his hands lands over the other pair. They sigh.

====

They share a bed for the first time in almost a year. The sounds of the city float through the open window of the balcony. Brock cups Jose’s face and gives him a shy peck on the lips. Jose snuggles himself under the blankets against Brock’s chest, gripping his t-shirt as an anchor to reality. 

Some hours later, Brock wakes up to the peaceful face of a sleeping man. A man that meant the world to him, a man who left him, a man he loved with all his heart.  He couldn’t deny how in love he was with him, even when all the odds have always been against them.

Jose wakes up to a pair of worried baby blue eyes that are right in front of him, but looking far away. 

“A penny for your thoughts,” he says, all worries hidden behind a sleepy voice. Brock looks at him, coming back from the depth of his thoughts. They know the call the night before was a mistake, they know things are way too complicated. They know crossing the fading line they both put between each other would land them in turbulent waters.

“I shouldn’t be here… we both know it.” His voice breaks with the high pitched gasp of the younger man. “Still, there’s nowhere I’d rather be… I love you, Jose.” The words effortlessly falling from his lips, making the other shiver. “And that‘s what makes all this a mess, because I love you, and I know you love me. But we got to a point where that wasn’t enough.”

Jose lifts his head with his arm, just to be able to focus his attention. “I know what you mean… and I fucked it up big time.” He says, a tight knot shaping on his stomach. “I shouldn’t have called. I managed to go through without doing it… but I miss you and I love you too.” The weight of those words falls heavily over his shoulders. “I screwed all of it up and I’m sorry… I… please don’t go, Brock.”

With those words, Brock wraps the other man in his arms, holding him close. Lost in the moment, there are no words left to say. Jose tilts his head and kisses the man in front of him, desperate and needy, drinking back half the life he took when they parted ways. Brock reciprocates, savoring the intimacy of the moment. 

They know for sure that they’re still in love with each other, and that something between them had broken during the time they were apart. They also know this path is going to be rough. They’ll need to start from the scratch and it probably won’t work, because just as Brock said, sometimes love is not enough. But sometimes, to love and to be loved is the right place to start.

**Author's Note:**

> My most sincere thank you to Veronica Sanders, who really helped to make this little piece something more readable and understandable.


End file.
